by Corin Cain
If these Aurelians were willing to turn their backs on willing women, it meant that the promise of power was more compelling to them than sex; and that made them dangerous indeed.
My skin crawls under the harsh spotlights.
The first woman to be sold is dragged out from the line. She fights, but the auction-master grips her hair and yanks her hard, forcing her into the middle of the stage even as she kicks and screams.
There’s a raised platform for the woman to be displayed upon, with a tall wooden pole in the center with a leash dangling down from it. The auction-master coolly clips the leash to this first woman’s collar, with a practiced movement that suggests he’s done the same to thousands of other unwilling women.
Now the poor, trembling girl is forced to stand there in front of everybody, unable to escape.
The bidding starts quickly. A Toad in the front row is sputtering with filthy excitement, raising his stubby hand to put a higher and higher bid on her.
I can’t watch. I look down at my feet, unable to bear seeing who she goes to, or who buys the girl that follows her on stage.
One-by-one, women are pulled from the line and dragged up onto that stage – to be met with catcalls, and jeers, and cries of “a thousand credits” or “five hundred more!”
Both Toads and humans claim their prizes, and the girls are each dragged off the stage to be delivered to their new owners. With each sale, I know I’m coming closer to my turn up on that raised dias. The inevitability of it is worse than the powerlessness I feel. It’s going to happen, no matter what…
I can kick. I can scream, and beg…
No matter what – I’ll be up on the auction block.
“Move, bitch! Don’t make me use this on you.” One of the guards looms over me, pressing a button on his long spear and making sparks jump out at me. I gasp, realizing I’ve been standing still instead of moving forward this whole time.
But until now, there’s always been a line of women in front of me – and I’ve just shuffled forward after them. Now there’s only one girl between me and whatever sick fucker is intending to buy me. I step forward behind her, forcing my unwilling legs to move. I feel like I’m in someone else’s body – observing them directing my movements by remote control.
The woman in front of me is the girl I’d saved from being choked to death when she’d fallen earlier. She was pulled ahead of me in line, maybe because the auction-master thought she was the more pleasing prize. She’s curvy, like me – but she huddles over, hiding her breasts beneath her arms.
The auction master snarls and forces her arms open. I can’t imagine the humiliation of being exposed like that – but it’s going to happen to me, next.
The girl is forced onto the raised dias, and leashed to the pole. The bidding starts.
I force myself to look at the crowd. I have to know what I’m getting into.
The baying Toad in the front row has collected three slaves already. They all sit near him, huddled and scared. I hope desperately he won’t pick me. The slaves he’s chosen already are thin little wisps, malnourished and skinny.
Easier to control, I imagine. Toads are capable of great strength and cruelty, but they lack speed and agility.
There are also masses of humans in the audience. One has just bought himself a slave, and I watch as he walks out with her on a leash behind him – his stride jaunty and arrogant.
The sense of power it must give a man, to be able to purchase another human being…
I can’t even imagine how horrifying it would be to become property. The moment I’m sold, I’ll lose everything that makes me special. I’ll become mere livestock – or, worse than that, just furniture! Like a chair, or a table, to be used and discarded.
The woman in front of me – perhaps a year or two younger than my own twenty-years – is sobbing openly on the auction block. The auctioneer does nothing to stop her cries.
Maybe some sick fucks get off on it.
The Aurelians in the front row are sitting back, staring at me rather than her.
I can’t shake their eyes from me. They bid on the woman on the block, but it’s almost like an afterthought – like it’s not her they really want.
My hatred for these three Rogue Aurelians surges up inside of me. The staff of the auction house cleared an entire row of seats for them, and they have six women in various stages of undress already at their feet. Nobody else has bought nearly as many slaves as these three have, and there’s a haughty arrogance to them – as if they’re casually ready to purchase more.
While the disgusting Toad in the front row paws at his new property with his warty, wet hand, the three Aurelians sit back like emperors, surrounded by their newly-purchased servants. They look like they own the place – and treat the women they’ve just bought as if they’re not even there.
Their eyes are up on the stage – turning constantly to look at me.
I shudder as I realize that every woman at the feet of these three Aurelians is curvaceous and full-bodied. The Aurelians have a type.
I am that type.
Then I examine the three aliens themselves.
These three don’t look like any Aurelians I’ve ever seen before. Their haughty species usually stands tall, invariably clean-shaven and dressed in their military uniform and power-armor. These three look very different – somehow even more dangerous than regular Aurelians.
The three of them are dressed almost identically, in tailored suits that hug their powerful physiques perfectly. One of the Aurelians has a huge, black beard that reaches to his flat, muscular belly. His shirt is pure black, opened up to show off the marble skin beneath; which contrasts so sharply against the black material.
His chest is adorned with similarly contrasting obsidian tattoos. I think I can see the hint of a skull tattoo. It makes him look wild, and dangerous, and…
Oh, fuck!
The Aurelian has caught me staring at him. He glares back at me – meeting my gaze with the uniform slate-grey eyes of his species. He keeps looking at me even as he raises his hand imperiously to place a bid on the woman standing on stage.
My eyes narrow. I realize that it’s not just his tattoos or beard that make this beast look so dangerous. Someone tried to kill that Aurelian. I can tell because he’s got a long, brutal scar all the way down his neck. Ha! I wish they’d dug the blade an inch to the left, and severed the bastard’s fucking jugular.
Maybe I’ll be the one who does it.
Because, obviously, I’ll try to escape.
Whoever purchases me will only have the illusion of ownership. The first chance I get, I’ll make an effort to escape; and if they stand in my way, I’ll kill them without a thought.
Well, maybe not without a thought. There is a thought – fear. Fear grips me at the inevitability of going up against whichever bastard buys me.
I glance over at the sparking electricity of the pole the nearest guard carries. That’s only one of the many devious punishments a slave-owner might use on me if I tried to escape…
…and if I managed to kill my new owner, I’d better make sure I make a clean escape. If I’m recaptured, I’ll be executed so an example can be made of me.
But I could do it.
I could kill any man or Toad who purchased me, as long as I had enough time to plot, plan and prepare…
Any man, or Toad…
…I have a chance as long as I’m not bought by an Aurelian… Or three of them!
One man I could maybe have a chance against... But three of those huge warriors?
The girl on the block sobs as the Aurelians win her. They’re too arrogant to even come and claim their property. Instead, they sit back and allow a guard to bring her over to them.
Now it’s my turn…
I know if I try to run, or if I hesitate to climb onto that stage, there’ll be pain.
I put my chin up. If I can keep some small shred of dignity, that will be the only piece of independence I have left.
My legs buckle, but I keep moving forward. I take each step slowly up to the auction block, feeling myself grow heavier with each stair I climb.
I feel like I’m back in the past – reliving a dark moment of human history, when people like me walked up to the gallows to be hung until dead.
Finally, I’m on the raised platform. The auctioneer clips the leash to my neck…
…then he riiiiips my clothes off.
The crowd gasps, and I reach up to cover myself, one arm over my breasts and the other between my legs.
The crowd laughs and jeers, but the Aurelians simply sit back, stone-faced.
The Aurelian in the middle of the triad has a pure, white shirt with buttons that gleam in the artificial light. His black hair is short-cropped, and he has a trimmed beard that accentuates his strong jawline. His nose juts out, almost as if it was…
Romanesque. That’s the word for it.
I’d like to smash his Romanesque nose in with a brick.
The Aurelian in the middle of the group must be especially vain, because he’s got four rings on his right hand. They suck in the light of the room, and with horror I realize they are Orb-Weapons – tiny ringlets made from the otherworldly material that fuels the machinery of our universe.
Any thought of escape suddenly crumbles.
If that Aurelian gets those rings on me, it’s all over. I’ve heard the damage an Orb-Weapon can inflict – the blue-black blades that shudder into form at just a thought and cut through anything, leaving bloody and smoldering remains.
The Aurelian on the left smirks as he studies my naked body. He’s got a cocky grin – the sort that more willing women must swoon over.
Not me, though. I can instantly see this Aurelian’s true nature. He might have blonde hair that reaches down around his shoulders, but he’s got the same dead, grey eyes of all the bastards of his species. He’s wearing a light lilac shirt that pairs perfectly with his pure, white skin; but there’s nothing innocent about that whiteness.
The leash rattles overhead. My cheeks burn red as I wriggle on the stage uncomfortably. I hate having hundreds of eyes studying my naked body.
The Toad in the front of the audience leans forward eagerly, and raises his hand to bellow out a bid. Spittle flies out from his slobbering lips, coating his recently-purchased slaves. They don’t even flinch at the scalding liquid itching their skin – not wanting to draw any additional attention to themselves.
My stomach roils. If I’m bought by that disgusting animal, the rest of my life will be a horror beyond belief. I don’t even want to imagine what such a creature would do to an unwilling, human slave.
I stand there, shivering in my now-nakedness. I can’t believe they tore my clothes from me…
But the auction-master is clearly a shrewd bastard. His trick worked – the showmanship of stripping me inspires a human in a tattered flak-jacket to take a sip from his drink – some strange, brown liquid – and raise his finger.
With that single movement, he places a higher bid than the Toad. He’s roguish, devilishly handsome, and part of me hopes that I’m bought by him.
As long as I’m bought by a human, maybe I can reason with him. There’s nothing but cold calculation in an Aurelian’s mind, and nothing but sticky lust in a Toad’s brain.
The three Aurelians stare me down. The seconds tick by as the Toad and the human bid on me, back and forth, raising my price higher than any of the women who took this stage before me today.
I’m bemused. What do they see in me?
People have told me my whole life that I’m pretty – but I can see the mirrors. My hair is tangled and curly, unlike the sleek elegance of some women’s locks. My body isn’t lithe and delicate – instead I’m full-figured, ripe and womanly. I’m just lucky that most of my weight seems to go in the right places – but even so, nobody would ever mistake me for a glamour model on the covers of those fancy holo-mags.
Despite that, though, the bearded Aurelian raises his arm and places an even higher bid on me.
He’s already got six women kneeling in front of him, including the girl I helped back up to her feet, but six specimens apparently aren’t enough to satisfy this beast.
Even worse – he doesn’t look like the type to give up. The Toad raises his hand once again, placing an even higher bid, and the human matches it twice more…
…but each time, the bearded Aurelian lifts his hand to offer more.
More, more, more. My price rises higher and higher…
…until eventually, I’m sold to the triad of Aurelian warriors.
The auction-master unclips my leash. Before the guards can even come to drag me off that raised platform, I lower my hands and walk myself off the stage.
I can feel a hundred pairs of eyes staring at my confidence and defiance – and leering at my naked body – but they’re all invisible to me.
Instead, I glare out at the Aurelians who’ve just purchased me – trying to burn a hole right through them with my fiery gaze alone.
The guard rushes over to me and gives me a hard look…
…but as soon as he sees I’m not there to cause trouble, or trying to escape, he lets me walk up the stairs to the triad of Aurelians without any interference.
It’s the first time anybody’s treated me with dignity today – and while I give the guard a dismissive frown, I’m secretly grateful.
Then, finally, I’m in the row of seating reserved especially for those three Aurelians – standing right in front of them.
Fuck – what do I even say?
I’m not sure what to expect. What’s the proper greeting to give someone who’s just fucking bought you?
So, I say nothing. Instead, I walk in sullen silence and take a seat on the ground next to the sobbing girl I’d rescued earlier. I hold my hand out, gently touching hers.
“I’m Petra,” I murmur reassuringly, waiting to see if our three new Aurelian masters will slap me or hit me for speaking.
When the blow doesn’t come, the sobbing girl looks up at me with wet eyes. I know she’s a year or so younger than me, but that single year feels like ten when I see her trembling lips.
“I’m Tiana,” the girl whispers back, and I stroke her hand, slowing her crying until she can catch her breath once again.
The next woman goes up on the slave block, but suddenly it’s as if the Aurelians have got everything they’d wanted. The three towering aliens stand up as one, as if they share the same mind, and turn to leave.
The same mind… It’s not such a crazy thought.
I remember the stories I’ve read about Aurelians. Some people claim they can read each other’s thoughts – and if you aren’t careful, they might read yours as well.
Well, fuck you, Aurelians. Read that thought, you horrid bastards.
None of the women have leashes. My eyes go wide as I realize the Aurelians aren’t chaining us to their wrists.
As soon as I get into an open space, I can escape!
My heart hurts for Tiana – but, if it comes down to it, I can’t let her keep me from escaping. I only just met her, and I can’t let my protective instincts stop me from taking any opportunity to escape if one is handed to me.
I look up at my new ‘owners.’
At first, I’d thought the Aurelian with the beard must have been their leader. Yet, as the warrior who’d been sitting in the middle of the trio steps forward, I understand instantly that he’s in command. There’s an authority emanating from him – a confidence that even his towering battle-brothers lack.
The Aurelian looms over me, but I shy away from his fingers – knowing that with a single slap of those Orb-Ringed knuckles he could put his whole hand right through my head.
“Follow.”
His voice is like gravel, and before I can even process his demand, I find myself getting up and walking. The towering Aurelian pauses and looks down at me, and his eyes grow wider as he lustfully drinks in the sight of my naked body. I have the urge t
o cover my breasts, but I at the same time I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his imperious gaze affects me.
The ringed warrior slowly takes off his jacket, then pulls the heavy fabric around my shoulders. His biceps bulge in his tight dress shirt, and as he rolls up his sleeves, he shows off his impossibly thick and muscular forearms.
I pull his heavy coat around me, shocked that this imperious bastard would care enough about my wellbeing to grant me even this semblance of modesty. His elegantly-tailored suit jacket is huge, and drapes over my body like robes, covering me better than any dress could.
But then I correct myself.
He doesn’t care about your wellbeing, Petra! He just bought you – he simply doesn’t want anybody else looking at his wares; not without paying for it first! Don’t mistake his ego for kindness.
Tiana follows behind me as the Aurelians lead their new purchases out of the auction house. Beyond the doors to the stage room, we’re led into a huge hall that’s much higher-class than the marketplace the Toad slave-master initially dragged us through.
In this looming room, there’s a well-appointed bar where affluent men in suits sip expensive cocktails. The entire room falls into a hush as our procession enters. All eyes turn towards us, and I guess it’s understandable why. Even here, amidst the countless strange and unsettling sights of a slave auction, it’s still a rare and impressive sight to see three huge, towering Aurelians stride into a room with a half-dozen slaves trailing obediently along behind them.
The triad of Aurelians stop in front of a large table in the center of the massive room, and the leader points imperiously.
Not using words? Alright, tough guy.
We all sit down at the table, which is weird enough in itself. As I sit there, beneath the reassuringly heavy weight of the Aurelian’s jacket, I begin processing my new identity.
I’m not a sculptor anymore. I’m no longer travelling to meet a wealthy client who wants to hire me as a live-in artist. I’m now just property – livestock.
The other six women sitting around me must be slowly processing the same dilemma. Some of them might have been lawyers or accountants, dancers or artists – anything other than just property.
